Thursday morning arrived a bit late for me after a restless night. I began a planned withdrawal from the NSAID’s I have been taking for years to relieve a rotator cuff injury. It seems that my old pal Ibuprophen® is very bad for me, and if I don’t want to destroy my kidneys before go naked in a nursing home, I had better go cold turkey on them.
Without them, I itched. I ached. I lay there wide awake until I finally just got up and indulged my news addiction. That’s not very conducive to a night’s rest either. I see no peaceful way out of the North Korea mess. It should have been handled in 1948, but the US was war weary and just wanted that horror to go away. But I am too old for war, and someone else will pay the price for our inability to face uncomfortable truths until terror lands on our shore.
And so I sip my late morning coffee while Snook patters about on her morning chores and the day warms up from the 40’s to the 70’s. Today, one of Linda’s co-workers may be coming by to look at my pickup. I am reluctantly selling it. I doubt that I will ever use it again and it is an expensive ornament now. But a man without a pickup loses a large chunk of his masculinity down here, and I very reluctantly await its sale.
Not that I mind aging so much. I am weary. Though I still hear the drums and bugles calling me to ride out with each new team at Fort Hood deploying, the blood no longer runs so hotly in my veins. Like an old dog on the porch, I watch the parade go by, then drop my head on my paws and go back to sleep. War, valor, impregnating females and winning at poker are just pleasant memories now. Mostly fond memories, but regrets … I got a few.
… but the coffee cup is empty and needs refilling. The time is passing, and I have chores.